


handing you a heart worth br(e)aking

by RosaNautica



Category: Ford v Ferrari
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Missing Scene, Reminiscing, idek how to tag this, maybe... or rather a dive into the scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21676408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosaNautica/pseuds/RosaNautica
Summary: "He was your friend, wasn't he?"The many answers Carroll Shelby could have given and the one he did.
Relationships: Carroll Shelby/Ken Miles
Comments: 15
Kudos: 66





	handing you a heart worth br(e)aking

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, I wrote this right after coming home from cinema, and I felt pretty unsure about it (still do), I was expecting to find a booming fandom with tens of amazing fics here... All I've found were two of them^^ and so I decided to contribute anyways, and hope someone will find this any enjoyable :)  
> (It is perhaps a needless piece of writing, but I felt a strong urge to delve into that scene, because I thought there was _something_ left unsaid...)

“Your dad…”

“He was your friend, wasn't he?”

Shelby looked in the clear wide eyes of a child he watched growing up, eyes that had seen much more than they should have, and weighed the words, thoughts, truths.

A friend?

Your father was my _hope_.

And also a bloody bastard, losing his seat every other season because of this very fact. Before he came to race for me, he was campaigning _a Sunbeam Alpine_ – you know that one? A kind of car he would take you on a picnic in. Ken Miles winning in a Sunday drive coupé, you could tell he was out of this world, but racing below his standards; it was something like... like a greyhound at the exhibition of shih-tzus. Faster, stronger, and yet somehow awkward, because he just didn’t belong, and it was so obvious and embarrassing that I couldn’t watch it any longer.

He never told you how he started with Cobra, did he?

It had to be the best no-brainer in my life, hands down. I just went after him to offer him a ride, he gave me those eyebrows and asked why he should be interested. The most talented driver in the States was literally leaning against a damn Sunbeam Alpine at some nameless local race in Santa Barbara and asking me what I’ve possibly got for him.

And then he went and beat me to that Tiger prototype, fitting the V-8 into his Alpine chassis in his garage while we at the factory were merely projecting it all - that was when I knew we could go far together. Make a difference. 

I took on building cars, because they were the only thing I knew, I founded a team, because I couldn't live without racing, but I still felt so... lost, it was so excruciating to stand there in the pits and watch them guys drive, with this feeling that I didn't have time to give my all... But when I met him, it suddenly started to make sense.

I wanted to build a car _for him_ , a car that would be worth Ken Miles behind the wheel.

Bulldog was my _strength_.

Oil coursing through his veins, engine instead of heart and gearbox inside his skull. There was nowhere to fit the brakes, maybe that's why I've always liked him, because he reminded me of me - only in better version. Uncompromising.

God knows I am as headstrong as they come, in racing you ought to be, but there were times I would’ve stepped back, if it wasn’t for his insane grit. I was thinking of him staggering out of that burning wreck, when I locked Beebe in my office and took the Deuce for that ride. I put my company, my whole life in stake for one race, because I _knew_ he would give it hell.

Not many people had the guts to hold up a mirror to me like he used to. To call me out on my stumbles, challenge me, fight me. Literally. This wrench... it was just our common thing. And I knew he would rather smash a windshield than my head, but if he said he'd throw the damn thing at me, he did it. No bullshitting, that's what he was all about.

That's what I loved him for.

Ken was my _weakness_.

The lowest I’ve ever stooped. He was the only one to have brought me to my knees, and I went down on him willingly, again and again. That it was wrong? I’ve been through my purgatory for it. Boy, did it fucking hurt, to know we were never going to amount to what we could have been... But I couldn’t let myself wreck a happy home, and I knew Ken would have never done that. He loved you two beyond everything - except for the cars, maybe... however, surely beyond me. Still, he _did_ love me and that is, despite all of Shelby American success, the greatest achievement of my life.

But you have no idea about any of this – and God forbid you’ll ever come to know! You meant the world to him and as long as I have a say, the memory of your father will be the one you’re having now. He has taken his half of our story to his grave, with all the guilt and passion, and I’ll take mine therein. Sometimes, even the purest love can be condemnable.

Maybe it was _too pure_.

You, Petey, just don’t start hating cars now, it’s not their fault. They don’t kill people on purpose, cars are only as good or bad as we make them. If you want to blame – and I know you do, because I do as well, you always want to channel your grief and anger somewhere – then blame me. Not the cars. He would never blame them, either, you never want to blame the ones you love. If there is a fault, it’s mine, for neglecting God only knows what, I shall never know and that’s something I’ve got to live with, but I’ll take that, because it’s still easier than to think he might have made a mistake, pushed one bit too hard. He _wouldn’t_. He lived on the edge, he knew that territory.

It should've been me. I've been running on borrowed time for years, this is not fair.

Instead of stuffing myself with pills to keep my heart going, maybe it's about time to let it shatter as it always wanted to. It is however breaking another bit with every new day without Ken and every new night when I dream of him.

Six fucking months.

Not that I would be any hugely missed...

He had no answer for the boy but a weak "Yes." After all, among the other things, Ken _was_ the best friend he'd ever had.

He shoved the key into ignition, chest constricted with notorious pain. Inwardly calling himself a coward, he popped nitroglycerine in his mouth and slammed on the gas.

**Author's Note:**

> The facts that Ken was often without a seat due to his sharp tongue and he was racing _Alpines_ the season before joining Cobra, and that he figured out how to swap the engines for the _Sunbeam Tiger_ prototype before Shelby did, are true. All the rest is an outcome of me being utterly impressed and fascinated by the movie and those two larger-than-life personalities.  
> I very much need to see it again - and maybe I'll write something more elaborate^^  
> So far, if you liked this little glimpse at their story, feel free to let me know! :)
> 
> (Title is a variation on _Nickelback - How You Remind Me_ lyrics)


End file.
